Luhan’s at home, well, his temporary home—he’s really at his hotel—loading his pictures from the fiasco the day before from his memory card to his brand new Windows 8 computer (it was another indulgence he’d bought as a result of his hype from deciding to take an artistic vacation).

He really hadn’t thought ahead when buying his computer, it was truly a spontaneous decision, and he’s really regretting it now. All he’s managed to figure out was where to put his SD card in, and turning on the computer.

It takes several hours, but Luhan figures it out (though he did call a friend, and there were some curses uttered).

Now, he expertly manages to switches between the start screen and the desktop, finally uploading his shots to his photo library, and as he looks as the images, he feels like he’s reliving the experience.

It’s a special talent Luhan’s always known he’s had. Just by looking at an image, he can imagine himself in the scene, and if the photographs were taken by him, the effect exponentially increases.

He feels the heat of the flame as he presses the arrow key on his laptop keyboard, and he marvels again at how swiftly the firemen worked.

His eyes unconsciously keep fluttering to a certain firefighter who seems to be in almost all his photos—in fact, he even has a few photos of solely this man. ‘Oh Sehun’ is what his metal nameplate on his jacket reads, and by the air of authority the man simply has is enough for Luhan to assume his high position.

It’s amazing how high quality Luhan’s photos are, and though he’s modest, he must admit that these are some of his best yet. Just one glance resurfaces his memories.

It’s like he can even smell the smoke again, but a part of that might be because his smoke-saturated clothes from the day before are still sitting in the laundry hamper, or maybe it’s because whatever he was heating in the microwave is on fi-

“,” Luhan mutters, abruptly standing up from his seat, nearly toppling the table that has his two most precious items—his camera and laptop—in the process.

After ensuring his valuables’ safety and making sure they were intact, Luhan dashes to the microwave, throwing and chucking as much water inside to extinguish the flame before the fire alarms go off and the sprinklers on the ceiling drench everything else in his room.

He sighs in relief once the flame is gone, but the high shrill of the fire alarm goes off, and his eyes widen.

“God damnit,” Luhan mutters under his breath again, leaving a burt and soggy bag of popcorn in the microwave to fling himself to the desk, using his body to cover his precious laptop and camera.

He’s just in time too, because at that very moment, the overhead sprinklers turn on, drenching the entire room in a matter of minutes.

Sehun had just finished filing MInseok and Jongdae’s paperwork when they received the call.

He and his team are out of the station with Jongin and Chanyeol behind for extra support, just in case.

“Where to?” Sehun asks, adjusting the name plate on his suit—it always felt crooked, in his opinion.

“The hotel two blocks away,” Joonmyeon answers, driving expertly as he squints into the distance, “That’s funny,” he murmurs, “I don’t see any flames. No smoke either.”

Sehun shrugs, jumping out of the vehicle once they’ve arrived. “It could be a false alarm, or the smoke’s trapped inside.” He says before shutting the door.

There’s a huge mass of people outside, some properly dressed, some not.

A man in a suit approaches him—he knows it’s the manager, and a new one at that (the panic shows too clearly)—and the man is speaking too quickly to understand, though Sehun catches the words: “smoke...” and “two oh seven”

“Calm down, Mr.… Zhang” Sehun says after seeing the name tag on the manager’s chest, “You have guests to take care of.”

The man nods frantically before taking a couple of deep breaths to compose himself. He’s suddenly professional and calm, and Sehun’s completely surprised because—what a turnaround.

“Let’s head in, man,” Chanyeol slaps his back and Sehun nods, though there is no real danger.

Their men have already gone in and done their regulation checks, bringing a few panicked people away from non-existent danger.

All that’s left and needed is the all clear from the captains to deem the hotel safe.

Sehun, Jongin, and Chanyeol make their way into the hotel no difficulty.

There’s no whiff of smoke at all, and everything’s pristine minus the small mess of papers and magazines on the floor, most likely knocked down in someone’s dash for the exit.

“What room again?” Jongin asks as the trio climbs up the second floor via the emergency staircase (even though the electricity and elevator are perfectly fine, it’s simply procedural rules).

“Room 207,” Chanyeol replies once they’ve reached the second floor, walking ahead. “Here it is.”

***

Luhan’s still hunched over his things on the floor long after the sprinklers have shut off. His clothes are sopping wet and sticking to his kin, and possibly everything in the room is just as soaked.

His initial reaction once the downpour had stopped was relief because—thank god, his babies—er…his laptop and camera—are perfectly intact without a single droplet of water hitting them throughout the whole ordeal.

The thoughts running through his head now consist of: ‘Oh god, my clothes. Oh god, the room! , I’m going to have to pay for everything. Oh, how am I supposed to find another hotel after they kick me out? . HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO PAY FOR ALL THIS. There goes that new backpack I wanted. , how much will this cost?’

Luhan’s snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of footsteps and voices.

It’s only now that he realizes he was too busy protecting his items to hear the shouts and footsteps of panicked people running around on his floor just 15 minutes prior, let alone call the front desk to alern them that it was just a false alarm—no fire, just extremely burnt, and now soggy, popcorn sitting in the microwave.

As the door’s open, Luhan’s caught in a drenched heap on the floor, dripping wet with just enough humility to have his cheeks pink, considering his state.